


Every Night in My Dreams

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dreams, Dreamscapes, Dreamsharing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 10:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: There are worlds we walk when we sleep that we can never touch in our waking hours. Sometimes they show us things to come. Other times they help us to cope with what the days has brought. But for the Mother of Dragons some dreams give hope for something she wasn't sure she'd find again.





	Every Night in My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).

In the broad expanse of dreams she walked between the worlds, a glittering road stretching across the infinite chasm of night’s sky. Some part of her knew that she was asleep in her bed, ensconced in the lush fabrics of her chamber at Dragonstone, but the pathway felt solid beneath her feet. The surrounding stars looked to be little more than fancy ornaments sparkling with light. The cosmos whirled around her, a riot of light and color. There was a peace in this place that she seldom felt in her waking hours, a comfort she hadn’t known since those brief days with Drogo’s khalesar when she’d been sure that their love and happiness was out of sorrow’s reach. 

There was also the matter of  _ him _ .

It happened first on a quiet night formed of cold and restless hunger. Her husband was gone, her khalesar small and sickly, and her dragons were struggling to grow as they wandered the wastes. The days were made of scorching heat and the nights of shivering beneath too-thin blankets. She struggled to get to sleep, too worried about the fate of herself and her people. It had been some time since she’d ordered riders to travel off as scouts to find somewhere for them to go, and they’d seen no sign of their return. She’d walked her body to exhaustion, trying whatever she could to hold the demons that kept her awake at bay. That night she raised her own tent, ordering the others to see to the care of the elderly and those too young to help themselves.

The dream overtook her almost from the moment she closed her eyes, light and stars replacing the darkness of the tent. A man stood with his back to her on a pathway made up of stars, his gaze trained on something in the far distance. He was tall—easily of a height with her late husband—and appeared to possess very muscular shoulders beneath his flowing red cloak. The hair that spilled over his shoulders was long and, like hers, braided in several places. A hand dangled at his side, clutching the handle of a large hammer. Daenerys approached him slowly, curious as to why a man she’d never seen should appear to her like this. She came to stand at his side and tried to follow his gaze into the star-studded darkness beyond. 

“It is not often I find unfamiliar faces in my dreams,” he murmured to her, though he did not turn to look. “Are you a witch or some trick of my imagination?”

“Are you?” the Mother of Dragons asked tartly, tilting her head back to look up into his face. 

He responded with a booming laugh. “I suppose that is a fair question.”

They spoke for a time, of gods and monsters and dragons. He gave his name as Thor and told her of a place called Asgard and the lovely Lady Jane, who he was forced to love at a distance because of the destruction of something called a Bifrost. In return, Daenerys spun the tale of her marriage to Drogo, her birthright to be the queen of Westeros, and the terrible predicament she’d brought upon her people. He listened with the ear of someone who’d made painful mistakes. His calm assurance that she was doing everything in her power to care for those in her charge was a balm she hadn’t known she so desperately needed. When she woke the queen thought it nothing more than a strange but comforting dream.

But his appearances did not stop with just the one. Thor returned in her dreams within the week. Each time the dream was different, and each time she learned a little more of the life he led on worlds far away. They became so vivid that she began to wonder if her family’s madness was taking root in her mind. She dared not mention it to anyone in her council, not even Jorah. When she dared to mention those fears to Thor when she dreamed of him in Qarth he laughingly offered her the most practical outlook on the situation:

“If your family’s history of madness results in the slaughter of innocents, I should think you’d welcome madness that only fills your dreams with handsome heroes.” He said it with a wink and a boyish grin, his blue eyes sparkling like the glittering lights that surrounded them, and she couldn’t help but laugh. When she woke she found that all her fears had gone.

The dreams stopped for several weeks while she worried over the proposal of Xaro Xhoan Daxos and took care of the nasty betrayal that followed. It was only when her dragons had been returned to her and she'd led her people from Qarth did she find him again in that strange, starry landscape. She found him sitting slumped against some invisible wall, hunched in upon himself. For the first time, Thor's face was lined with pain. He told her in a wavering voice how he had been reunited with his love, but that it came with the terrible price of his brother's life. It was the first she had seen of Thor being vulnerable. Not, of course, that he made a big deal about pretending to be strong for her. It was just that he had seemed so infallible up until that point. 

They alternated which of them disappeared for a time. At times Dany would find herself so enthralled in her quest to liberate Slaver’s Bay that she went for weeks before she realized that her dreams had not turned to Thor. At other times she would awaken full of nerves because he hadn’t appeared only to be told when he finally returned that some world-ending disaster had required his attention. Their dreamscape meetings became a comfort, and he became such an important part of her life that she couldn’t imagine what it would be without him. He talked her through the decision of banning Ser Jorah when his former betrayal was revealed. She comforted him when, after he’d chosen to venture out into his own galaxy (a word that made her head hurt when he tried to explain the ‘science’ of the matter) to better protect the realms, Jane made the decision to leave him. Before she’d quite realized how much their subconscious meetings meant to her years had passed.

And then the dreams stopped.

At first Daenerys was sure that they would return after a short time as they always had. He was a busy god, after all, though she frequently told him she thought he was delusional to calm himself such. But they did not return. The Sons of the Harpy reached a boiling point in their pervasive campaign in Mereen. Jorah returned at the opening of the fighting pits, sending a spear of pain and guilt straight to her heart. She fled upon Drogon’s back to try and gain some perspective on her ever-shifting situation. The Dothraki found her, thinking first to take a slave before they realized her history and packed her off to Vaes Dothrak, but still Thor remained absent from the darkness of her mind’s eye. Even after she returned to Mereen and send the slavers packing he did not come to seek her counsel once more. The closer she came to a turning point in her quest to cross the Narrow Sea and regain her throne, the further her nighttime visitor seemed from her mind, and the Mother of Dragons began to wonder how much the Iron Throne of Westeros really meant when she’d be sitting upon it with no one at her side.

Mereen was not a place filled with idle comforts, and even in the most open suites of the Great Pyramid the heat was oppressive. The queen struggled with regular sleep for so long that she’d begun to yearn for the comfort of it in the same way that she yearned for her lost husband. Though Daario Naharis provided a welcome distraction, she seldom chose to let him warm her bed the whole night through and instead would ask for solitude at the first opportunity. It wouldn’t do to let him think she was too attached. Even if she could have brought him with her to her homeland, it wasn’t his body she wanted to lie beside her. It had taken quite some time for her to come to terms with the fact, but the queen was quite certain that her distress at the thunder god’s absence came from more than just the longing for a friend who was an equal. It was Thor’s striking blue eyes that she imagined when Daario moved within her, his massive arms she wanted around her form. Madness, it seemed, would almost be preferable to the anguish of wanting for someone who existed as nothing more than a dream.

Storms did not come to Slaver’s Bay without cooler temperatures that rolled over the sea, and the night was chilled when the storm began to rumble above the pyramid. Daenerys fell into a fitful sleep—her mind wrought with thoughts of the campaign to come—and tangled her sweat soaked limbs in the light layer of sheets upon her bed. 

The path of stars seemed dimmer, the unbridled joy of existence they’d always exhibited banked by something she couldn’t quite place. He was there, of course. Finally. Over the months since last they’d spoken, she’d convinced herself that she would have so much to say, so many admonishments to give. They dried up at the very sight of him. His once luscious hair was gone, shorn close enough to the scalp that it stuck up in spikes all over his skull. Where before he had always appeared in his fanciest armor with a floor length cloak, now he wore no more than functional leathers. One of his eyes was gone, replaced by a stark black patch. She didn’t have the words to address him.

“Asgard is gone,” he told her after a long moment spent staring at one another across a chasm of darkness. There was a sadness about him that she’d never seen before, a crushing weight that outstripped any of the grief he’d shown when his brother had died. “My father is dead. Loki lied to me about his own death in order to rule my people. I had a sister who turned out to be a psychopath, and I destroyed my home planet in order to stop her bloodthirsty nature from spreading across the galaxy.” He stared at her hard, the blue of his remaining eye so bright it almost hurt to look at. “I am a king, now, and I have never been more lost.”

It took no more than a moment to make a decision as to her course of action. Daenerys crossed their familiar invisible floor, stopping no more than a handspan from Thor and craning her neck to look him in the face. “I am a queen of many people. I have lost a city, lost an entire race of people, and won them over again. I am meant to sit the Iron Throne and rule the lands my family conquered many generations ago.” She could feel her heartbeat thudding in her chest, an unusual situation for the strange landscape of her unconscious mind. For months she had longed to say to Thor the thoughts she’d only kept private until that very moment. “Everything I thought I wanted is within my grasp, and I’ve found that I don’t think I want it at all.”

In an instant the intensity of Thor’s gaze changed. Before her very eyes lightning crackled along his skin, humming with energy. “What do you want instead?” he asked, intense gaze focused on her face. 

The question hung unanswered between them. Daenerys was sure that she knew what her answer would be, but it caught in her throat, strangled by uncertainty. What did it mean to reject all you’d thought you were meant to become? As she stared at him—strange, magical,  _ different _ Thor—the darkness pinpricked with stars faded away. The invisible floor beneath their feet solidified into massive tiles of worked metal, the surface gleaming beneath artificial light. Where before there had been open space filled with light there emerged metal walls and a ceiling high overhead. Daenerys Targaryen found herself standing in a room appointed with strange furnishing and built of even stranger materials, her subconscious compatriot standing before her with his back to a mirror.

“I cannot leave my children,” she whispered, violet eyes locked on a single cerulean orb.

“I would find them for you,” Thor assured her. Something about him was so much more solid than it had been. Somewhere in the distance, Drogon’s familiar roar was answered by those of his siblings. The roars were followed by shouts of startled people, and exasperation shone on Thor’s features. He crossed the room they stood in to lean out of a door and shout a few orders to the people on the other side. Orders given, he turned back to her. “Though it seems that I won’t have far to look.”

Daenerys blinked up at him, suddenly aware that she could feel the brush of air being forced through a vent above her head. A single strand of white-blonde hair dragged across her cheek, raising goosebumps along her skin. Thor stood close, and for the first time she could feel the heat emanating for him body. 

“What do you want, Daenerys?” he asked, crowding into her personal space. He reached a hand out to take hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. “What do you really want?”

“Out,” she breathed, reveling in the feel of his skin against her own. “I want out.”


End file.
